


sometimes you just gotta

by calerine



Category: Johnny's WEST
Genre: M/M, Manhandling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calerine/pseuds/calerine
Summary: There is something about this that makes Akito shiver, or maybe it’s everything about this.Akito likes being manhandled and Kotaki's more than happy to oblige.





	

There is something about this that makes Akito shiver, or maybe it’s everything about this. Kotaki crowding him against their hotel room wall, their shoes still on, his arms bracketing Akito’s head and his impossible height. His shoulders cast shadows cast against the light, cloaking Akito’s face in darkness.

He can’t see anything past him, and the world is just Kotaki’s slightly flushed cheeks and teasing smile. Everything becomes a joke to him once he’s had a drink, and Akito really hopes he thinks Akito also drank enough to feel the same.

Maybe Kotaki doesn’t know how he’s affecting Akito, maybe he does.

It’s not something Akito brings up with polite company, the fact that he likes it when the other members push him around, that it makes him so hard he has to jerk off afterwards, in a concert shower, in his hotel room, thinking about their fingers tight around his wrists, their arms around his chest, the wet warmth of their lips when they tell him what to do.

Akito’s breath catches in his throat, and the shochu he had with dinner has made his body so warm, and with the proximity of Kotaki’s body, warmer still. It feels like his skin is alight, and his cock grows only heavier with heat.

And now he would step away if he could, if he didn’t feel pinned down by Kotaki’s gaze. It’s only playful but still - being trapped here, between the solidity of Kotaki’s chest and their hotel room wall, makes him want to bare his neck and be marked.

Akito braces his palms against the wall to stop a shiver in its tracks.

Kotaki’s still half-joking when he steps closer to him, pretending to be menacing by pushing Akito’s upper body into the hard wall, an open palm pressed on his chest. An involuntary groan wrenches its way out from Akito’s throat, causes Kotaki to pause. Akito has gone from half-hard to _hard_ in a single instant, swallowing thickly and hoping Kotaki doesn’t figure it out.

But people often don’t realise how observant Kotaki is; his skills are not restricted to making a hilarious fuss on late-night variety shows. He takes in more than he lets on, always knows where the boundaries are and dances right on them, and Akito would be the first person to point that out.

A thigh comes to rest between his legs, just a gentle pressure against the length of his cock that takes all of Akito’s restraint not to grind against. His head thumps lightly against the wall, a sigh escaping from between his teeth.

“Is this turning you on?” Kotaki asks. There is surprise in his voice and in his darkening eyes, which transforms slowly into curiosity, pleasure, boldness, liquid in the low light. He pulls back a little, taking his arms away from beside Akito’s ears, and Akito has to stop himself from whining out loud, from arching up instinctively to follow.

“Ohh,” drawn-out, like a discovery when Kotaki catches the look of desperation on his face, and he tilts his head sideways, studying Akito thoughtfully. His other hand sweeps up Akito’s side, perfunctory even as its fingertips reach Akito’s nipple, circle around the areola, scraping, twisting with a touch of nail that makes Akito’s hands snap to Kotaki’s back, trying to pull him closer.

“We can stop now and we’ll never speak of this again,” Akito suggests, losing a bit of force beneath his words with how hard he’s breathing. They’re on the precipice, he thinks, a little more and the cliff faces of their relationship will crumble further, fall and be washed away by the rapids below.

Kotaki seems to consider this.

“No.” And before Akito can register it, he seizes his hands from around his waist, and shoves them above their heads, pinning them there with one palm stretched out over both of Akito’s wrists.

“ _Oh, fuck_.” Akito’s body immediately sags against the wall. He’s so turned on it won’t take long for him to come. He’s going to be masturbating to this memory for _years_.

Kotaki huffs a wry laugh. “You know what you said,” He starts, his voice musing as his lips worry at Akito’s neck, at the underside of his jaw, teasing with flitting sensations of teeth that make Akito weak-kneed. His fingers clutch at air. Kotaki is holding them down firmly enough to hurt just a little; it feels _so good_. “During Christmas, about wanting to protect me from the time we met?” He bites down hard, playing dirty, his lips sucking a bruise into Akito’s skin that has him fumbling between Kotaki and the wall, scrambling uselessly until Kotaki snakes a hand to reach the small of his back, tugging him closer and pressing him down harder in the same breath.

There are voices outside in the corridor, but Kotaki selects another patch of skin to torment, to slide his tongue over and then, Akito’s too gone to remember.

Kotaki hums in question, as if to say _did to hear me_ , as if Akito could have missed it.

“Answer me,” He demands, impatient. His voice is soft and low, but there’s an edge to it that Akito only heard when he’s trying to be cute on television. Here in another situation and suddenly, Akito imagines himself on his knees, Kotaki’s fingers dragging through his hair and his cock, long and slender like the rest of him, touching the back of his throat.

Fuck, he really is going to come like this.

Idly, with a laziness that Kotaki brings to so much else, his hands - delicate and broad-palmed - undoes Akito’s belt, his jeans, pulls the waistband of his boxers down, then distracted momentarily, they feel up under Akito’s shirt, running up and down Akito’s belly before finally _finally_ reaching his cock.

Akito’s breath stutters, the moan in his chest caught there and shattered into pieces. The pad of Kotaki’s thumb strokes up and down Akito’s cock. Down from the swollen head, ignoring the pre-come beading at the tip, then up from a halfway point, somewhere, languorous to the point of nonchalance. He returns to Akito’s lips, swallows a shudder, licks his way into Akito’s mouth, the tip of his tongue first tracing the crooked path of his front teeth, then sliding fully against Akito’s.

Try as he might, Akito doesn’t have control over the kiss. Using his height, Kotaki raises his head gradually, forcing Akito to lift slight on his toes as he strains to follow.

“Yes -- yeah, I remember,” dropping back on his heels, trying to breathe. His eyes flutter shut, and his hips push into Kotaki’s fist, the tight grip, trying to chase friction that Kotaki doesn’t want to give. A thumb traces Akito’s bottom lip, once from corner to corner, then on its return, slips into Akito’s mouth, making him suck.

“Have you ever thought of me this way, then? Making you so breathless, out of control, turning you on just by pushing you up against a wall - what will the fans say to _that_.” He holds an arm to one side of Akito’s face, and dips his swollen, dirty lips into the shadows by Akito’s ear. Their cheeks brush. His wet warm breath caressed the fine hairs at the nape of Akito’s neck, making him shiver.

Someone knocks. Akito gasps, and Kotaki decides at that very moment to speed up.

“Ignore it,” he says, his voice gravelly, like he’s been singing for days. His grip tightens in warning when Shige’s voice rings out from behind the door.

“We’re going for a conbini run, do you guys want anything?”

Akito’s first instinct is to reply, but Kotaki gets there first. He presses their hips flush together and covers Akito’s mouth with the broad of his hand, catching his helpless cry in his cupped palm. His cock is sticky with pre-come now, the squelch of it between Kotaki’s fingers sounds so filthy on every downstroke when his knuckles bump into Akito’s hip.

“We’re good!” Kotaki calls back, leaning his bodyweight on Akito.

Akito’s almost there, can feel the beginnings of his orgasm burning through his veins, the irresistible pleasure blooming in his belly, then Kotaki twists his hand and he’s coming, spurting white all over Kotaki’s jeans, dripping from his hand and staining both their shirts.

He collapses against Kotaki, forehead coming to rest against his shoulder, sinking a little into his knees.

“Wow,” he chokes out eventually. “ _Wow_.”

Kotaki smiles, slow. He watches Akito catch his breath, holding a fistful of Akito’s come in his upturned palm like he’s forgotten about it, and he looks - _fond_.

“That was really good,” he murmurs, kissing the angle of Akito’s jawline, nuzzling at his cheek affectionately, taking his time to reach Akito’s lips. Then, he pulls away and, “I guess that means I get first dibs on the beds tonight!”

As always, Akito lets him have his way.

//

(Later when Akito’s brushing his teeth, he realises.

“You didn’t come,” he says around a mouthful of toothpaste, walking out of the toilet into the room where Kotaki’s channel-surfing on his belly.

It makes him light up. He sits up, cross-legged and Akito sees that he’s half-hard. His cock, as Akito imagined, is lean and long and _perfect_.

“I jerked off in the shower, but I was going to ask if you would bend me over the vanity table and fuck me.” He makes it sound innocuous, but his hand is already around his cock, working it up, down and Akito’s twitches.

“Now?”

“Well, if you can get it up again already,” and Akito’s trying his best not to crack his head open on the slippery toilet floor on his way to the sink.)


End file.
